El Soldado: The Soldier by William C. Dietz

Author:William C. Dietz [Dietz, William C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JAB Books
Published: 2024-12-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Highway 49, headed for Juan Aldama, Mexico

Serrano was happy. Or, as happy as he could be. The weather was good. Martina was next to him, her head on a pillow, taking a nap. And, after hassling Serrano about the hitwoman’s death, the Federales had cleared him.

The issue from their perspectives was the nature of her head wound. Serrano’s bullet had entered the back of the Americana’s skull from only inches away. That was obvious. So, how could Serrano claim self-defense?

“She was firing at what she thought was my body,” Serrano explained, “as I rolled off my elevated sleeping platform and landed on top of her.

“She fell facedown, my pistol discharged accidentally, and the bullet struck the back of her head. That was unfortunate, but I can’t say that I’m sorry.”

“Alright,” a sergeant named Otero said wearily. “She was trying to kill you. That’s true. But why do so many people want you dead?”

Serrano frowned and shook his head. “I wish I knew.” And that was the end of it as far as Otero was concerned.

But not for Mr. Yankovic. Serrano had miscalculated. Originally, after stealing Yankovic’s money, Serrano figured the bastard would give up attempting to recover it after a couple of tries. But he was still at it. Maybe he’ll give up now, Serrano thought. I hope so.

Martina stirred, sat up, and rubbed her eyes. “Where are we?”

“About halfway there,” Serrano answered.

Martina smiled. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” Serrano replied.

Serrano had been the first to use the L-word a few days earlier, and had no regrets about doing so. But now, in keeping with the new stage in their relationship, Martina was taking him home to meet her parents. A trial Serrano wasn’t looking forward to, but understood the need for, since the possibility of marriage loomed ahead. They hadn’t discussed it yet, but Serrano knew it would come up soon.

Juan Aldama was nestled among some dry hills, and was comprised of low one- and two-story buildings, some of which bore tropical hues.

The town struck Serrano as a sleepy place, even if it was named after a famous insurgent and served as the local seat of government.

The Escalera home was modest but well maintained. A three-foot-high wire mesh fence served to protect a lush vegetable garden from free range dogs, rambunctious children, and wandering farm animals. Especially goats.

Señora Escalera was working in the garden when they arrived and hurried out to embrace her only child. “Martina! You’re so thin… We’ll work on that. And this is the man you told us about. The one they call El Soldado. Welcome home, Nick.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Señora. Martina talks about you all the time.”

“Please, call me Rosa,” Señora Escalera replied. “Bring your things inside. That’s where Juan is, watching a football game.”

When the visitors appeared, Juan turned the TV off, stood, and came forward to shake hands. Serrano noticed that the bricklayer’s hands were callused, his skin was a deep brown color from years in the sun, and his eyes were bright with intelligence.

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